


Sense of Memory

by OrmondSacker



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 02:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18326771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrmondSacker/pseuds/OrmondSacker
Summary: Human memory is tied strongly to our senses and old memories, and the feelings tied to them, can be triggered by experience a scent or taste tied to them.





	Sense of Memory

The first time it happens Hugh is drinking whiskey. At the taste of the liquor on his tongue the memory is right there, not just sight and sound, but taste, smell and feelings. 

 

_Paul’s lips are warm and soft against his, and his mouth taste of whiskey as he kisses him, deeply and hungrily, all but climbing into Hugh’s lap as he's sitting on the couch._

_“Paul,” he says laughing, pushing Paul back, unsure of what this is. “You’re drunk.”_

_“A little, but not so much I don’t know what I’m doing.”_

_Paul’s eyes look anything but drunk. The look in them is sharp and keen, and it makes Hugh’s pulse beat faster._

_“I’ve never known you for a randy drunk,” Hugh says, his eyes briefly dropping to Paul’s crotch and the half hard cock he can feel pressing against his thigh._

_Paul laughs._

_“Oh that’s not the whiskey,” he says softly, leaning forward until their lips are almost touching again. “That’s all you.”_

_Hugh joins the laughter pulling Paul fully into his lap._

_“Really? Then what will happen if I do this?” he asks and starts kissing Paul’s throat._

_Paul gasps at the kisses, leaning into them, into Hugh, now trembling slightly in Hugh’s hands._

_“Oh,” Paul says with studied casualness. “Something like this I’d imagine.”_

_Hugh leans back, looking up and studies Paul’s flushed face._

_Paul runs a hand very deliberately down Hugh’s chest, leaving a trail of fire in its wake._

_“Care to make something of it doctor?” he asks. “Or we could just make out if you’re uncomfortable taking advantage of my inebriated state.”_

_“Let’s kiss for a bit and see where that goes.”_

 

Hugh puts down the glass on the counter, staring at it as if it just bit him. 

The memory, Paul, the feelings of warmth and desire, the softness and the heat. They were so real, right there, suddenly. 

He looks down on his hands as they’re shaking slightly. 

 

 

Another time it is flowers. The fragrance of the blooming bushes on Zeni Prime is soft and rich, and very reminiscent of Earth's roses. 

  

_He finds Paul waiting for him in the hotel lobby when he comes down, hands hidden behind his back._

_"Doctor, I'm glad you could join me,” he says, wearing that radiant smile that never fails to make Hugh’s heart feel both soft and tender._

_He produces a bouquet of red roses from behind his back, handing them to Hugh._

_“For me? Why?” Hugh asks as he takes them, breathing in their scent._

_Paul leans in and kisses his cheek and Hugh's heart decides that now's a good time to skip in his chest._

_“Because I love the way you smile when I give you flowers.”_

_Hugh looks up from the bouquet and meets Paul’s happy eyes, thinking that if they remained like this forever, he wouldn’t mind it._

 

“Hugh.” The sound of Paul’s voice draws him back to the present. 

He looks up from the flower filled bush to meet his eyes, the look in them wistful and worried, so jarring from his memory of him, them. His happiness, their happiness. A happiness he  _felt_.

Its absence feels like a painful echo inside. 

“Are you okay," Paul asks. "You look strange, and you looked a million miles away a moment ago.” 

“I was. I remembered, you once told me you loved my smile when you gave me flowers.” 

“I do.” 

Present tense. Paul still cares, still loves, refuses to stop no matter how Hugh feels. 

“Paul.” 

“Don’t. You can’t change how you feel. And neither can I.” 

Paul turns on his heel and begins to walk away. On pure impulse Hugh breaks off one of the flowers and follows him. Catching up to him, he puts a hand on his arm stopping him and holds out the flower to him. 

“Hugh, please,” he whispers, looking at the flower, anguish in his voice. 

“I felt it, Paul. That memory. How happy we both were. I  _felt_ that.” 

Paul’s gaze raises from the flower to Hugh’s shoulder, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“I can’t connect my feelings to most of my memories, but sometimes it happens. I want that, I-” 

His voice flounder, uncertain of what he’s trying to say. 

Tentatively Paul reaches out and takes hold of the flower, his fingers touching Hugh’s, neither of them letting go. He can feel the callouses on Paul’s fingertips, on the side of his nails and the warmth of them where they touch. 

“Maybe,” Hugh goes on. “If I can’t connect feelings to my old memories, we could...” 

“...make new ones?” Paul finishes for him, a spark lighting in his eyes as he look up and finally meets Hugh's gaze. 

“Yes.” 


End file.
